


so close (and still so far)

by Katbelle



Series: enchanted [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Dates, Crack Treated Seriously, Disasters, Feelings, First Dates, M/M, True Love, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Candlelit dinner, good wine, a classy date. First date. With your best friend, whom dumb alien gizmos also named your True Love. Really, how hard could that be?</p><p><em>Oh </em>God<em> it's a date. It's a date with Matt, who's been in love with Foggy since </em>the second month of law school<em>, Jesus fucking Christ, </em>what<em>.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	so close (and still so far)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evpher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evpher/gifts).



> Dear [Evpher](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Evpher/pseuds/Evpher), I don't actually have a toaster that I could give you, so please accept this awkward disaster of a date from me.

**so close (and still so far)**

They're all packing their stuff and getting ready to leave when Foggy gathers the courage — something he's been trying to do all day long, ever since he entered the office at eight in the morning and saw Matt laughing with Karen in the kitchenette — and stands up. He exits his office and crosses the outer one, drawing a baffled look from Karen, makes a beeline for the door of Matt's.

He uselessly knocks on the doorframe — it's not like Matt doesn't know he's coming and it's not like there's still a charade that they have to play out for Karen's sake — just to have something to do with his hands. And then he leans against said doorframe, just sags heavily against it, because this still might not be enough courage. He should have got some of the liquid variety.

"Are you having a heart attack?" Matt asks, not even bothering to raise his head. He's hovering over his desk with his head bowed over a sheet of paper, and his fingers make a quick dance over the braille on it. "You sound like you're having a heart attack."

Foggy clenches and relaxes his fingers. Christ, this shouldn't be this hard. He was less nervous when he was asking Debbie Harris to prom. He was less nervous when they were passing the bar and that was _the bar_ and this was _just Matt_. "I think I might be."

Matt's head snaps up and his lips curl in concern. "Is something wrong?" Foggy shakes his head. Matt sighs an exasperated, "Foggy."

"How about this Friday?"

Matt frowns. He abandons the paper he was reading and straightens up. "What about this Friday?"

"Dinner."

Matt laughs, a proper full-on belly laugh, as if Foggy just cracked the best joke. "Absolutely not," he says, still snickering. "You're not making dinner. I still maintain that the last time you _did_ try to poison us. Karen," he calls out, "back me up on this!"

"No human being could make spaghetti that bad!" Karen calls back.

Traitor. Foggy will have words for it. Or with her Christmas bonus. But that later. "No," he says right now, "I mean... You and me. A nice dinner. I promised you dinner."

He sees the moment it clicks for Matt, because he starts gaping. His jaw drops just the tiniest bit, it's not unflattering, nothing really is on Matt, it's hard to look bad with this bone structure. Matt would have to work hard to look bad.

Matt closes his mouth. "I thought you forgot," he says quietly.

Foggy... kind of wishes he did. But it was hard to. "Nope. So, is Friday okay? There's this nice Italian restaurant and they _might_ be holding a table for us."

"I--Yeah." Matt smiles brightly and Foggy dies a little inside, shit, this is awful, Matt is happy and he is a ball of stress, he is horrible and Matt deserves someone who'd be more into this than Foggy actually is. "Friday sounds great."

Foggy drums his fingers on the doorframe. "Great."

"Great."

It's Karen who saves them from an awkward and uncomfortable silence, Foggy definitely takes back all that he thought about Karen's Christmas bonus. "You coming?" she asks Foggy as she emerges from the kitchenette, hands still wet. "There are at least two bottles at Josie's that we should already be emptying."

"Yeah, I'm coming." He throws a glance at Matt. "Are you sure you'd rather go punching unsuspecting lowlifes than go drinking with us?"

"I'd rather go drinking with you," Matt says and yes, good answer, "but I promised Luke and Jessica."

"Why do they need you?" Karen poses the question that Foggy's been mulling over but didn't want to voice. "Jessica is super strong and Luke is indestructible, so why do they need you?"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Karen."

"I'm just saying," Karen shrugs, "out of the three of you, it's _you_ who's most likely to get hurt."

Matt grits his teeth and presses his lips at the reminder of old argument, the constant worry that he'd one day get himself killed out there, something that Foggy kind of exploded with sometimes, when Matt got hurt too badly and it all became too much.

Wow, okay, that got depressing quickly. "Maybe they need a distraction," Foggy suggests, elbowing Karen in the side. "Anyone who sees Matt in costume just _has to_ stop and marvel at how dumb the thing is. That could be a good diversion tactic."

Karen eyes him from head to toe. "Yeah, that could be it."

Matt huffs, annoyed. "You're both horrible people."

Karen giggles. That they are.

***

"Okay, spill."

Foggy frowns. Karen pushed his glass away and leaned across the table and closer to him. Oh, and she's smiling now, smiling that awful devilish smile that spells doom for anyone in vicinity. 

"Spill what?"

Karen rolls her eyes. "Nice Italian restaurant? Dinner? What's up with that?"

"Were you eavesdropping on my private conversation?"

"Not on purpose. But the walls are thin and the acoustics are great in the office, so it's easy to hear this and that."

Foggy sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. "Do I even wanna know how many conversations you overheard like this?"

"Probably not." She gestures at him. "So?"

Foggy sighs again. Oh well. "Remember when I was braceleted?" Karen nods. "And then I wasn't?"

"That as a memorable day," Karen says and grins. "To meet the One and then instantly lose her number? What happened? Did Matt help you find her?" She sucks in a breath. "Wait, did he? I want to meet her!"

Foggy cringes. "Yeah, there was no girl at Josie's. I lied about that."

"Why?"

"It was Matt." Karen frowns and shakes her head, clearly not understanding. You're not alone in that, Karen. "Matt kissed me."

Karen's eyes go wide as saucers. "Matt's your soulmate?" she whispers.

"Whoa, whoa." Foggy raises a hand, effectively shutting her up. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay. No one said anything about soulmates, there are no soulmates involved. That dumb alien gizmo just thought Matt was my," Foggy makes air quotes, "'true love'."

"Matt kissed you," Karen repeats, as if nothing that Foggy's just registered. "And then what?"

A mess, Karen, a fucking mess. "We discussed it," they kind of did, so it's not much of a lie, "and I promised him dinner."

"Like a date?"

"Yes, like a date."

Karen bites down on her lower lip and sucks it, contemplating what to say next. She settles for, "But that was almost two months ago." Foggy nods. "Why did you wait two months?"

Foggy closes his eyes. There really is no way around this, is there? "He's in love with me."

It comes out as a whisper, like some dark secret that no one should know about. It also gives rise to no reaction from Karen. Foggy cracks his eyes open and looks at her, and notices her almost pitying expression. "You're not surprised," he says almost accusingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to be? Is this surprising news?"

His, "You knew," comes out even more accusatory. It's not a question, but Karen nods anyway. "How long?"

"I started strongly suspecting, oh, about a week after I've met you. I've known for sure--since you two had that big fight about Daredevil? Yeah, around that time." She shrugs. "I asked Matt at one point. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to."

"I was the last to find out," Foggy states.

"Pretty much."

He snatches back his glass. " _Jesus_."

"Probably had nothing to do with it."

"I hate you."

"Nice Italian? Are you trying for fancy, Foggy? Trying to impress?"

He downs the contents of his glass in one go and grimaces. The alcohol burns his throat and he doesn't have a good answer. Does he want to impress Matt? No? Probably not, it's not like he _needs_ to, this isn't the case of him taking out a girl that he desperately wants to like him. This is the exact opposite of that, he's taking out a guy — his best friend no less — who already likes him. Likes him way more than Foggy assumed he did. A lot more than Foggy would like him to.

That was new. People generally didn't just fall in love with him without Foggy trying to get them to do so. Definitely not without him noticing. Okay, girls didn't. Foggy didn't have much experience with guys. Or any experience, in fact. Like, at all.

(That one time in high school when Josh Goldman asked him out and Foggy blurted out a shocked and kind of horrified 'no!' most certainly doesn't count.)

"I just want it to be nice," he tells Karen. "Classy. Candles, good wine, that kind of shit."

"But why? Why not something that's more-- _you_?"

"Because it's _Matt_ ," Foggy says. And really, that is the best answer he could give. It's that simple. It's Matt, Foggy's best friend who deserves all that's best. Honestly. "I want it to be nice."

And he wants him to be happy.

***

The problem here is that, apparently, Matt's happiness greatly relies on Foggy being up for things he never in a million years thought anyone would ask of him.

And now that they kind of were asked of him... He's not sure he can be. Up for that. It'd be great if he could, and he's willing to _try_ — hey, as Nana always said, you'll never know until you try — but the odds are. Not great. Not in anyone's favour. 

Foggy's not a defeatist on principle, but this time he can't help but see shit and misery down the road.

_Great._

***

Luke Cage will burn in hell for his meddling and his ideas and his pep talks.

***

Foggy realises he's in deep, deep trouble when he sees Matt on Friday evening. His hair is tousled, but not in his usual 'I forgot where I put the comb' way; oh no, his hair looks like he took _time_ , time and _effort_ to make it stick out like this. Clearly someone took their old roommate's well-meant comments about attractive bedhead to heart.

But it's not only that. Foggy could deal with the patented Murdock tousled hair; after all, it was _his_ idea in the first place to use it as a wooing technique and he knew it worked on all the girls. The hair? Nah, the hair is _fine_.

It's the _rest_ that is less so. 

The rest comprises of a navy blue suit and a light blue shirt, sans a tie and with the top three buttons popped. The _date shirt_ that Foggy hasn't seen in action since they left Columbia. The fucking _date shirt_. Add to that a smile — small, barely-there, but warm and genuine — and Foggy's fucked. So, so fucked.

This was a very bad, not at all good idea.

"Hi," Matt says softly, so quiet that it sounds like an exhale.

Foggy grabs the door handle and yanks the door open. He motions inside, "After you."

Upstairs Foggy — to Matt's amusement — tells a robotic maitre d' that they have a reservation for two and that it's for the surname Stahl. The maitre says that yes, certainly, and snaps his fingers at a hostess, who leads them to a table close to the windows.

Foggy reins in the urge to whistle. Alright, Marci didn't lie, the view here is spectacular. And totally wasted on them, because Matt can't see it and Foggy's not really interested. But then again, it's not like Foggy specified _whom_ he was taking to dinner when he and Marci talked this through.

"Marci?" Matt asks.

Foggy rolls his eyes. "You shouldn't sound so surprised. This fine establishment opened just a few months ago and they're booked out for the next sixteen. Marci's surname helped, ah, procure a reservation."

"Remind me to thank her."

"Mhm."

They sit down and wait for the hostess to hand them the menus. She curtsies after handing them out, tells them that a waiter will come in a moment to take their orders. Foggy thanks her, and turns his attention towards the menu. Where everything sounds amazing and is way over his budget. Like, _way_ way over his budget.

Fuck. He didn't think of that. He allowed Marci to talk him into this place — 'it's amazing, Foggy-Bear, and the chef is a genius, studied in France and Italy!' — got excited, because classy! fancy! yay!, and forgot to consider that such quality usually dragged expenses with it.

Matt puts the menu down with a stricken expression. "What is it?" Foggy asks.

"It's printed," Matt says. "Not in Braille."

Foggy glances at his. His is printed as well — thick high-quality paper, bound in a thin leather cover — and that's fine, he can read it. He didn't think the hostess would make a mistake of giving _Matt_ one. Especially since the cane was a dead giveaway.

Foggy clears his throat and waves at the staff. The hostess is busy, but one of the waiters takes notice. He hurries to their table, a little notebook and pen already in hand. "May I take your order?" he asks sweetly as he stops by the table.

"Not yet," Foggy says. He points at Matt's menu. "We were given two printed menus, we'd like to ask for a Braille one."

He waiter blinks. Then blinks again, and then his face clouds with confusion. Oh boy. "We don't have any."

Foggy smiles at him and the waiter gulps audibly. "Excuse me?"

"We don't have any... sir."

"And?"

"I--I should get my superior."

With that, the waiter scurries away. Foggy closes his eyes and counts to ten, takes a deep breath. This is going splendidly well so far. " _Wonderful._ "

"Restaurants are not required to provide Braille menus, you know that," Matt says. "They're fully within their rights."

"Yeah, and it pisses me off."

He opens his eyes and finds himself staring at Matt's forehead, that's how low he hung his head. "Forget about the menus," Matt says eventually. "Just tell me if anything sounds good, and if not, I'll just have what you're having. Like always."

***

The waiter doesn't come back, either alone or with his boss. Great. Just great. They're definitely not getting a good Yelp review.

The printed menu it is. It takes Foggy fifteen minutes to go through all the dishes listed in there, the names of which are _all in fucking Italian_. Jesus Christ. And of course there are no descriptions of what actually _is_ in the dish, nada.

In the end they settle for risotto, which is a) safe, because they know what it is, and b) not so mind-numbingly expensive. Another waiter comes to take their order — a young woman, who smiles brightly and even asks if she could assist Matt, to which Matt flatly says that no, he managed.

The answer might have been different if she didn't sound as if she thought she was dealing with a particularly slow child.

"Is there parsley in it?" Foggy asks, remembering that Matt's mildly allergic. Matt smiles a little, touched. Probably didn't think Foggy'd remember.

"No," the waitress says.

The girl leaves and comes back with a bottle of wine, white burgundy, would go well with the risotto, she assured. There are candles on their table, which she lights for them. 

Candlelit dinner. Good wine.

It's a date.

"So," Foggy says.

Oh _God_ it's a date. It's a date with Matt, who's been in love with Foggy since _the second month of law school_ , Jesus fucking Christ, _what_.

"So," Matt repeats.

***

The awkward silence is peppered with failed attempts at conversation. For the first time in his life Foggy doesn't know what to say; there's nothing they could talk about. Fucking hell, they have _nothing_ to talk about.

"Marci and her father were here last weekend," Foggy says. "She told me that the food is spectacular."

Matt makes a noncommittal sound, almost like a hum but not quite. "That's nice. How is she?"

"Good, Stark Legal is treating her well."

"She always knew how to get the best out of every situation."

They wait over forty minutes for the risotto, and when it arrives Matt takes one bite and sighs. He puts his fork down, saying, "There's definitely parsley in that."

Foggy sighs too. "They don't even know their own menu. I'm beginning to think that Marci lied about this place."

He takes the wine bottle and pours the rest of the wine into his glass. Yeah, they'll need another one.

***

They drain the second bottle fast. Drinking is an acceptable excuse for not talking.

***

What happens next is the stuff of sitcoms. 

To be fair, it's not entirely the waitress' fault. She's navigating between the chairs and the tables and she's doing a great job of it, of balancing a couple of plates. Really, she's great, and then the man sitting by the table next to Foggy and Matt abruptly stands up, upset and fuming. And the waitress, she tries to steer clear of him, but she stumbles and her hand tips and the plates wobble, and one of them turns and its contents land on Matt.

Even his freakish ninja senses aren't enough to save him from it.

Matt yelps and Foggy is on his feet in an instant. The waitress drops the other plate she was holding and starts apologising, and yeah, great, she's sorry. Matt's suit and shirt are ruined, that's for sure, there are deep red tomato stains on both. Matt is clenching both his fists and his teeth, but that's got to be because of frustration and anger, not pain, the tomato cream thankfully wasn't hot so no burns sustained.

Foggy wonders if they could sue this fine establishment for general idiocy and incompetence.

He crouches next to Matt and touches the back of his hand. "Home?" he asks.

"Yes," Matt forces through his still gritted teeth. "Preferably."

***

They take a taxi home, because braving the city when half of your suit is wet with tomato cream is not the best idea.

Matt's quiet all the way to his apartment. Foggy walks him to the front door of his apartment building and then upstairs without as much as exchanging a word. No, he gets it. For once there's a valid reason for the brooding.

They stop in front of Matt's door. Matt taps his cane against the floor. "Well."

"Well," Foggy repeats.

"That was--" Matt's voice trails off. "Something."

Foggy laughs. Understatement of the year. "A disaster," he supplies. "I think you meant 'an awkward disaster'. We might have broken the record. Worst first date ever, would not recommend even the most hated enemy."

Matt taps his cane again. "The risotto was good. Maybe not spectacular, but good."

"Okay, I can give them that."

Matt takes a deep breath and nods, to himself, as if he's just made a decision. "Thank you," he says. "For trying."

Foggy doesn't get a chance to react to that before Matt leans in. Before Matt leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Foggy's mouth. And it's--It's just a quick peck of lips, and Foggy isn't sure if Matt was going for his lips or his cheek, or if he somehow managed to place it exactly where he wanted to.

And before Foggy gets a chance to react to _that_ , Matt smiles — a little, a little sadly — and says, "Goodnight, Foggy."

And that's.

Huh.

Matt opens his door and disappears inside his apartment. Foggy raises his hand and puts his fingers over the burning spot where Matt kissed him.

_Huh._

"Night, Matty."

***

And.

End.

***

He's really about to get going — no point in standing in the corridor at night like some creep — when he hears the--Okay, it's anguished, alright, it's _anguished_ wail and a sound that reminds him of someone punching something.

For example a man punching wood. Or wooden door, to be precise.

Foggy turns on his heel and heads back to Matt's door. "Matt?"

Nothing.

"Matt, are you okay?"

A muffled, "I'm fine."

So not fine. "You don't sound fine," Foggy points out. "You sound as if you punched the door."

"Maybe I did."

"What did the door do to you?"

A small laugh followed by a hiccup. "Go away, Foggy."

Not a chance. Foggy sits down on the floor, cross-legged, with his back propped up by Matt's door. "I think I'd rather stay." 

A _thud_ tells him that Matt dropped onto the floor as well. Foggy imagines that they're sitting in the same positions, back to back, on opposite sides of the door. "Matt?" Foggy prompts.

A beat — maybe Matt just shook his head — and then, "Sorry."

Even through the door Matt sound as if he was tearing up. "Hey," Foggy says gently. "I'm sure you'll get the tomatoes off your fancy date shirt."

Another laugh, but even wetter than before. He's crying, then, he's definitely crying. "It's not that."

Yeah. Figures. "Bad dates happen," Foggy reminds him. "A lot of people have bad first dates. And really, this wasn't borderline tragic. We could have always got so drunk that we slept with each other. Now _that_ would have been an awkward disaster." He knocks on the door, just to show that he's there. He might not be able to see or touch Matt right now, but he's there. "It's not the end of the world."

"It is," Matt says, desolate and choking. "You said you could try. You promised me dinner and then didn't mention it again, I thought you forgot but you _didn't_ , and." Another _thud_. Matt must have hit his head on the door. "You said that you could try, a _date_ , and this was my only chance--"

Foggy frowns. "Only chance at a date?"

Matt's quiet for a moment. "My only chance to make you fall in love with me."

Oh Jesus fuck. "You do realise that we do not live the plot of a romantic comedy, right? In real life people don't just madly fall in love after one date."

"I don't really watch a lot of romantic comedies."

"Then I'm informing you, it's not a thing that happens." Foggy moves to his knees. He presses a hand and his forehead to Matt's door. "It definitely doesn't happen to _me_ , it always takes me _at least_ three dates to decide if it's a lost cause or not, so. You know. You have two more tries."

"... What?"

Foggy takes a breath and continues, "So far I'm not impressed, by the way. I thought you'd tear into those incompetent condescending assholes and you were just 'forget about the menus'. Really, Matt? I mean, _really_?"

"I didn't want to make a scene."

"But I quite like it when you make scenes and verbally destroy people. Shame, Matt, one would have thought you knew your target audience better." Foggy knocks on Matt's door again, this time with different intent. "Could you consider opening the door? I think Fran's peeping at me and I'm fairly certain she's going to call the cops. Also the floor's cold, I don't want to freeze my butt off."

He hears the lock click open and a second later the _door_ opens and Matt's face emerges from behind it. Matt's ridiculously handsome, currently red and blotchy, face. His eyes are red-rimmed and look like deep brown in colour, the damn light blue date shirt always brings out the brown.

There are teardrops stuck on his eyelashes and Foggy reaches out to wipe them before he can stop himself. He cups Matt's cheek and runs a thumb under Matt's eye. Matt leans into the touch.

"Two more tries?" Matt asks.

" _At least_ ," Foggy assures him. Eh, what the hell. "Also, next time? We're going to Josie's. This level of class clearly doesn't suit us, so let's drop the 'trying too hard' act. Okay?"

"Okay," Matt whispers. He smiles and Foggy can feel it against his palm. "Next time."


End file.
